


A Thousand Mirrors

by icybluepenguin



Category: High-Rise (2015), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Begging, Blow Job, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Domination, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Elevator Sex, F/M, Name-Calling, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughness, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icybluepenguin/pseuds/icybluepenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Laing takes his pleasure, roughly, from a woman in the elevator.  This fic contains dubious consent, filthy dirty talk and name calling/humiliation, VERY rough oral and vaginal sex, and there is NO regard for the OFCs comfort or safety by Laing.   **THIS IS NOTHING LIKE MY OTHER FICS.**  DO NOT READ IF THESE TAGS BOTHER YOU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOTHING LIKE MY OTHER FICS. This is not loving or romantic in ANY WAY. Please be aware that this fic is entirely hardcore porn. It is rough and filthy. This was inspired by that picture of Laing standing in the mirrored elevator. I have not seen or read High Rise, I have no idea if this is "in character" for Laing. Please, please, read responsibly.

It didn't take him long at all to have you on your knees.  From the moment he had walked up while you waited for the elevator, he had acted like he owned you already.  Standing there, too close behind you in his finely tailored suit, his stance wide and confident, his back ramrod straight.  And almost as soon as his dark, smooth voice had begun murmuring in your ear, your arousal had jerked sharply to life.  And he kept going, talking constantly in an almost casual manner, in contrast to the scandalous words.

"Aren't you a sweet thing in that skirt.  I bet you have a pink, luscious pussy under there."

"Look at those lovely breasts of yours.  Are you cold?  I can see your nipples from here, love."

"I wonder, do you whimper when you're bitten or do you cry out?"

"Such a wonderful ass you have.  It would look even better with my handprints all over it, glowing scarlet."

"Mm, what _is_ that smell?  Is that you, sweet?  That enticing aroma of sinful musk?  Is that coming from your hot, wet cunt?  It is wet, isn't it?"

"I know what you want.  I can always tell the sluts by the way they smell.  You want me to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you hard.  If you don't, you will soon."

"Oh yes, I'll sink balls deep in that sweet cunt of yours, ride you like the bitch in heat you are... you're trying to hide how much you want that, but I can see it, how you're pressing your thighs together, trying to ease that empty, aching feeling..."

"When those doors close behind us, sweet, you'll be handing me your panties.  I expect you to be so wet that you'll drip on the floor.  Don't disappoint me."

Each word, spoken in that careful tone, with that erudite diction, seemed to flow down your spine, straight between your legs.  By the time the elevator doors opened, you knew that you would have no trouble obeying his last command.  You didn't even question that you _would_ be following his orders once inside.  Of course you would.

He had herded you inside with touching you.  He stood patiently, expectantly, his hands folded in front of him as you carefully took off your soaked panties.  A drip slid down your inner thigh and you shivered.  He took the scrap of silk from you, tucking it in his pocket without comment or reaction.

Then he seemed to be everywhere, no matter where you looked you saw him in the mirrored walls, his burnished bronze hair swept back, his eyes burning with detached lust.  You got the impression that he wasn't really seeing you, not as a person, just as a means to an end, a thing to fuck to pass the time.  A puzzle to learn or a toy to amuse himself with.  The thought made you shudder even as his fingers pinched and twisted your nipples through your blouse.

"Whine for me," he demanded, pulling sharply until you let out a high-pitched noise that echoed in the small chamber.  You arched up into his touch, body begging for more.  "Good girl.  Such pretty sounds you make."

His breath was hot on your neck just before his teeth scraped over skin, etching his words into your flesh.  "I have a present for you, slut.  A big, thick, hard present for you.  And if you're very, very good, I'll put it in your cunt."

You wanted to ask what he would do if you were bad, but his hand came around your throat and he pressed you up against the wall, lifting your chin to stare into his eyes.  His other hand gave your nipple one more hard twist, making you squeal, before it pushed between your legs, molding the fabric of your skirt to your mound.

"Oh, such a wet little whore," he growled.  He started to rub, your juices soaking through the polyester, the slick fabric causing delicious friction.  His eyes never left yours, his hand still wrapped around your throat.  "Feel how hot and wet you are.  And I've barely touched you.  Just a few words, whispered in your ear, have you this horny, sweet?  What a fucking slut you must be."

Your eyes unfocused as he ground his hand on your clit, your hips bucking up into his touch.  You moaned low when he stopped, changed his grip on your sex and your throat, then began again.  And again.  His eyes always boring into yours, his voice always in your ears, his hands exploring, teasing, retreating.  Back to your nipples, soon sore and throbbing.  Pinching and sliding over your ass.  Wet polyester sliding between your legs.  Teeth on your wrists, fingers in your mouth, scratches on your neck.  Bringing you to the edge and back again, turning your moans into shrieks of frustration and then into resigned whimpers.

"Little slut wants to come.  Little slut wants to come so badly, doesn't she?" he asked, gently taunting you with a mocking whine in his voice.  You couldn't manage words, your brain fogged with the need for release, and you only nodded frantically, pleading with your eyes.

"Then get on your knees, where you belong."

He stepped back and you fell, truly _fell_ with a thump, to your knees, the driving _need_ to be filled, to finally end the raging storm between your legs, blocking out nearly all thought.  It has been so easy for him to reduce you to this, with his strong fingers and his sharp teeth and his unerring ability to dance just on the pleasing side of pain.

He rubs the bulge in his pants, defining the outline of his thick cock in his linen pants before he draws down the zipper.  Long, hard, flushed with desire, he strokes it in your face, watching you closely.

“Do you want this, little slut?  Do you want to feel my hard cock in your mouth?”  He groans as he moves his palm up and down, thrusting into his hand.  You’re nodding again, your tongue darting out to wet your lips- you have to feel him, touch him.  “Then beg for it.”

You moan in frustration, trying to find the ability to speak again.  It's so hard to think with your heart hammering, blood pounding in your clit, desire burning through you.  Your brain is hazy, slow to respond.  Your hand moves between your legs, you have to ease the pressure, you have to touch, stroke, climb-

"No," he snarls, kicking your hand away with a shiny patent leather shoe.  "Keep those hands where I can see them, slut.  You don't get to touch yourself.  And if you can't behave, you don't get to touch me either.  I told you to _beg_."

"Please... oh please oh please... let me suck your cock-"

"A wanton slut like you can do better than that."  HIs voice is full of disappointment and derision.

You bite your lip, fighting with yourself, watching his hand stroke over his cock, becoming consumed with the idea of it filling you, anywhere.  With a whimper, you start to beg, shameless.  "Please, _please_ put your cock in my mouth.  Please, I need to suck your hard cock, I need to… I’ll make it feel so good, please just fill me with your cock, _please_ …”

 _And if you're very, very good, I'll put it in your cunt._ His earlier words echo in your head, driving your pleading further.

You catch sight of your reflection now, on your knees at his feet begging.  Your eyes are wild, hungry- no, _starving_ \- red-rimmed.  Everywhere you look, your desperation for a fucking is looking back at you, showing you for what you are at this moment.  A bitch in heat, willing to do anything to be fucked.  You try to shut your eyes to the sight.

"Don't close your eyes, slut.  If you can't look at your own desperate face, keep your whore eyes on my cock before it sinks down your throat." 

You move your gaze to his hand again, swallowing in anticipation.

“Oh yes, this is going down your throat, slut.  I want to feel you choke on it.  And if you’re very, very good…”

 _And if you're very, very good, I'll put it in your cunt._ You open your mouth for him and he doesn't hesitate.  He grabs your head, pulling it down on his cock.  He holds you down, thrusting short and shallow at first, then deeper and faster.  You can't do anything but concentrate on keeping your mouth slack, your throat relaxed, inhaling in shuddering gasps when he pulls back.  This is no tender, teasing blow job.  He has no regard for you, using your mouth for his own ends, plowing deep into your throat.

You moan, your hands clenching uselessly at your sides, thighs pressed together in a vain attempt to stop the ache between them.  Your knees hurt from the hard floor but you can't shift or move as he jerks himself off with your mouth.  He grunts every time you choke around him, groans when you gag, wet slurping sounds filling the space around you.  His scent surrounds you, musk and salt and lavender.

He yanks you off his cock, leaving your mouth gaping, dripping saliva.  “Oh, slut, how I want to make you swallow my come, to drown you in it,” he growls.  “But not this time…”  He pushes down your head, leaving you with your cheek pressed to the cold floor, your ass in the air.  He moves behind you, jerking up your skirt.

“Look at that pink, _soaking_ cunt.  Such a whore, to get so wet from a cock down her throat.”  He rubs himself up and down, coating his length in your fluids.  "You're just a pathetic little fucktoy, aren't you?"

You don’t need to be told this time.  “Please, oh _please_ , please fuck me, _please_ ,” you wail, pushing back towards him, your knees slipping farther apart.  “Fuck me, fuck me, please, oh god, I need it, I need your cock in me, please…”

You hear his chuckle and you can see him in the mirrors, his eyes glued to his cock rubbing your wet lips, glistening when he pulls back.

“Tell me what you are,” he orders.  “And I’ll make you see fucking stars.”

You whine and mewl and finally admit in a desperate, abject sob, “I’m a slut... I’m your fucktoy, please just fuck me… I need it hard, I need to be fucked like a bitch in heat…”

He sinks into you in one long motion, your cry of satisfaction drowning out his grunt.  He slams deep in you, your spine curving to take him as far as he can go, your body offering itself to him with no reservations.  Your noises can't compete with his words, spoken in animalistic snarls, raining down on you from above.

"Fucking tight little slut.  So slippery.  So depraved.  Look at you."  Long fingers tangle in your hair, yanking your head up.  "Watch as I fuck you.  Watch your eyes go wide with every thrust, watch as you beg to come... you are _dying_ to come, aren't you, pretty whore?  I might just let you... eventually..."

You draw in a harsh hitching breath, staring at your reflection multiplied a million times around you- hair disheveled, lips swollen and red, teeth marks on your neck.  You watch his face in the mirror, twisted with his own pleasure, his eyes glued to his cock sliding into your body.  Every hard slam, every brutal squeeze of your hips as he drags you back on his length... you're incapable of stifling the sounds you're making.  You can't move, only try to keep your head up to follow his orders, your clit throbbing, _hurting_ from neglect, and you're begging again-

"Please, please let me come... please let me come on your cock, I'll do anything, please let me come, please..."

"Fucking slut," he grunts.  "So demanding.  I'm not done with your cunt yet.  You can come when I'm bored of you."

You whine, pathetic in your own ears, not at all sure if he's serious.  He thrusts hard, hammering your g-spot over and over until you are sure you will burst into a thousand pieces if you don’t come.  His fingernails dig into your hips, his primal noises fill your ears- grunting, panting, snarling.  He is lost in his own lust, not even looking at your body any longer, his head tipped back on his neck, exposing long tendons beneath ruddy skin.

You shut your eyes, your body quivering with exquisite, torturous tension.  You might be begging again, you can’t be sure- all you know is the need for release, the stretch for a peak just out of reach, the shaking in your muscles straining for ecstasy.

And then his fingers are on your clit, rubbing harsh and hard until you scream, shattering into a thousand pieces like you thought, scattering into the air, bonds broken, drifting.  You only barely hear his shouted curses, barely even feel his final pounding thrusts, your face on the floor, now wet with your tears and spittle.  He pushes away from you and steps back but you make no move to stand.  You’re not sure you can.  You feel drained, exhausted, every muscle in your body lax except your cunt, still spasming and clenching.

Soon, the elevator slows and comes to a stop, a soft chime ringing through the chamber.

The doors open and- fly done up and not a hair out of place, although his face is sheened with sweat- he steps out, leaving you on the floor, your skirt still rucked up, your used cunt still on display.  You watch his back with glazed eyes, your cheek still pressed to the floor.  Your mind is reeling, detached from your body, not sure how you feel about what happened- the best sex of your life... with a man who didn't even ask your name.  In an elevator.  You're still boggling muddily as he walks away. 

Halfway down the hall, you see him take your panties out of his pocket and hold them to his nose.


End file.
